


Workspace

by Hours_Gone_By



Series: Assassin AU [6]
Category: Transformers - Aligned Continuity Family, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Hacking, Hired Goons, Investigations, M/M, Murder, Office Sex, Shock, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threats, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 01:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17112215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: One of Prowl and Jazz's first cases involves looking into a murder from five years ago - one Prowl committed. That's manageable. The local mob isn't too happy with some of the things Jazz looks into. That's - less easily managed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I saw this prompt, and it was just too perfect for Assassin-verse:  
> 
> 
> You’ve just been hired to find the murderer of a crime you committed five years ago.
> 
>   
> Can’t think of a much more appropriate prompt for Assassin!Prowl, can you? 

Jazz looked up from his current research into Senator Ratbat, specifically the Senator’s finances, when Prowl sauntered into his office. They’d rented a small office suite for their new private investigation firm: it had a reception area (but no receptionist) flanked by two offices. Prowl was rarely in his. Business offices weren’t really the former assassin’s thing, but Jazz wasn’t comfortable with his lover killing people for a living, so Prowl had changed professions.

Just like that. For Jazz. A transfer of skills, he called it. Jazz couldn’t have dreamed of this outcome when Prowl entered his life to warn him a local mob head wanted him dead.

“I sent you a message, darling,” Prowl announced as he entered. “A new case. Can you take a look?”

“Sure, Prowler.” Jazz saved and closed his Ratbat file and opened his messages. The newest one was from Prowl, and he gave it a read.

Then he gave it another one. And a third.

Finally, Jazz looked up from the message in disbelief. " _You're_  going to find out who committed a murder?"

"No need, lover,” Prowl said cheerfully. Jazz had learned, or maybe intuited, to be wary of that cheer. “I remember the contract very well. It was carried out five meta-cycles ago."

“Wait – you haven’t only been hired to solve a murder, it’s one of _yours_?” Jazz didn’t have to worry about upsetting Prowl by saying that. Not only did nothing he’d encountered so far upset Prowl, but Prowl was also extremely blunt when it came to his past. He had been an assassin, he’d murdered mecha for hire (not very _nice_ mecha, as the former assassin insisted), and he didn’t see any point in pretending otherwise. “What are the odds?”

Prowl tipped his head to one side, considering. “Do you really want to know? You would know the number of contracts I’ve fulfilled if you worked backwards from the result.”

“Yeah, no, never mind,” Jazz said hurriedly. He _didn’t_ want to know. Prowl was considered an urban legend by the police Jazz had worked with in his former life as a forensic accountant. That didn’t mean he’d never be tracked down in connection with anything he’d done. Maybe no one would ever believe Jazz didn’t know how many people Prowl had assassinated, but, at the extreme, a scan of his memory files would show it wasn’t information he had.

Jazz really hoped it would never come to that. There wasn’t a statute of limitations on murder but if Prowl hadn’t been found yet and he went quiet hopefully that wouldn’t change.

When Jazz stopped to think about it, he knew he should give the information he had on the former assassin to the police. He should turn Prowl in, help solve the open cases, see justice done, but…

…but he couldn’t. He could rationalize it as much as he liked and maybe his spark would be condemned to the Unmaker for it if any kind of afterlife existed, nothing changed. Jazz just couldn’t turn Prowl in.

Prowl walked behind Jazz’s desk and stood with his hands draped behind him, looking down at his lover. They were discussing murder, but his optics still held warmth for Jazz.

“Would you like to know why I agreed to take that particular contract?” Prowl asked.

“I think it’s better if I don’t,” Jazz answered. “The less I know about your former life, the better.”

“Reasonable,” Prowl conceded. “You may find out during your research, however, and I will answer any questions you put to me.”

“I know.” Jazz paused. "Prowl...I know this doesn't end with you turning yourself in..."

"Of course not," Prowl agreed, leaning back against Jazz's desk and looked down at the tablet Jazz held, reading it upside down and humming just off-key enough to be irritating. Jazz wasn't sure if he did it on purpose or not. With Prowl it was fifty-fifty. "I'm honestly rather surprised anyone missed this one."

Well, at least it would be a straightforward investigation. "Suppose everyone's got someone."

"I suppose they do," Prowl said, looking down at Jazz fondly. Jazz couldn’t help it, he smiled back up at the former assassin. “I’m surprised to find out this one did, really. Thoroughly unpleasant individual.”

“Going to give me any more information than that?” Jazz wanted to know.

Prowl smirked. “Now that wouldn’t be fair. No other agency would have that information – insider something, I believe it’s called.”

“Insider trading? Not sure that applies to private investigators,” Jazz told him. “But okay, I can start with what you’ve got here. Maybe the client will feel they got some sort of justice.”

“Some sort, yes,” Prowl agreed. He contemplated Jazz. " _Do_  you want me to turn myself in, my sweet?"

Jazz should have said ‘yes,’ he really should. This was his out if he’d wanted it. Hired or not, Prowl had killed someone - lots of someones - but he had never completed contracts if he believed would be unethical to do so. (Granted, Prowl’s view of ethics could be…interesting.) That was why Jazz was still alive, after all. Whoever this victim was, they probably weren't innocent, probably were untouchable, or nearly so, by the justice system. Like Barricade had been. But...

"Would you, if I asked?" Jazz asked, looking up at his lover, who was lounging dangerously against his desk.

Prowl smiled and leaned in as if for a kiss. He brushed a thumb over Jazz's mouth, which opened ever so slightly, ready for more.

"I would," Prowl said in a low, intent, voice, staring into Jazz’s visor, "do _anything_ for you, Jazz."

Jazz shivered. From Prowl, ‘anything’ didn’t mean ‘putting up with your friends’ or ‘doing things I don’t care for because you like them.’ It meant _anything_ with no qualifiers whatsoever. Prowl wasn’t just dangerous because he used to kill people.

Jazz tossed the tablet to the desk and reached up for his hot, dangerous, astounding lover. 

"You're not going anywhere," he said when a brightly smiling Prowl moved to straddle his lap, "except right here."

Prowl’s mouth was hot on Jazz’s, his tongue clever and delightful, and he knew just what to do with those long, talented, fingers to bring Jazz’s engine to full rev in only a few kliks.

“Love what you do to me,” Jazz gasped into Prowl’s mouth.

“Oh?” Prowl inquired, voice hitching as Jazz’s fingers worked some magic of their own. His own hands headed south on Jazz’s body with a definite goal in mind. “Why don’t you show me what that is, hm?”

“I – oh, _frag_ , Prowl!” Jazz clutched at Prowl as his lover’s fingers opened his armour for him and teased up his spike.

“What an excellent idea,” Prowl murmured, adjusting himself to take Jazz inside. “I like the way you thin – ah!” He broke off as Jazz pushed up into his valve, Prowl rocking down to meet the thrust. “Yes, so good.” He kissed Jazz’s face and mouth, wriggling himself into position.

“Right there, yeah…” Jazz’s hands were on Prowl’s hips, though he didn’t remember putting them there.

“Mhmm. Now, there was some mention of ‘frag Prowl?’”

“No,” Jazz corrected, just able to keep a processor thread more complex than ‘snug, slick, hot, Prowl, yes!’ running. Barely. “There was a comma: ‘frag, Prowl.’”

Prowl leaned backward at the waist, a little smile playing around his lips, looking down into Jazz’s visor. “Are you giving me commands now, lover?”

He _was_. “Yeah, I am.” And it felt…not wrong. Not strange. It wasn’t something he’d want to do all the time, but – it was okay. “Commands you’re not following yet.”

“Well,” Prowl gave a little roll-and-swivel of his hips that made Jazz moan, “I certainly wouldn’t want to disobey, _sir_.” No one-syllable word should sound that lascivious, but Prowl managed. He smirked. “Who knows what you’d have to do to me?”

“I-I’ll think of – ahh! – something,” Jazz managed. “Later.” Much later, at this rate. “Prowl, don’t stop!”

“Yes, sir,” Prowl purred.

Turned out Prowl could be _very_ obedient – when the mood took him, anyway. Jazz let his hands roam freely over Prowl but otherwise let the former assassin do all the work. Prowl made an absolute show of riding him and Jazz was very, very glad that one, their business was new and two, Prowl screened most of their clients. Jazz didn’t think he could’ve stopped if Primus Himself had walked in, escorted by the Thirteen.

It probably wouldn’t even occur to Prowl in the same scenario. He’d be more likely to point out a god should have better timing.

“Primus, that was good,” Jazz gasped afterward, dazed from overload, still clutching those magic hips. Prowl’s hands were on his shoulders, keeping the former assassin steady – the chair was _not_ designed for this and kept rocking in ways that probably should have been alarming. Jazz had to set his feet firmly on the floor to help keep the two of them stable.

“Yesss…” Prowl hummed, slumping against Jazz. “Delightful.”

Jazz stroked Prowl's back as the former assassin nuzzled his shoulder. "I’m sure I said ‘no ‘facing in the office’ at some point.” He kissed his lover’s collar fairing, the nearest piece of Prowl he could reach. “You're a terrible influence, you know?"

"Mmm, yes I am. I suppose you'll have to punish me." Prowl did not sound remorseful _in the least_. 

Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl’s waist, idly stroking smooth plating. "Maybe later. When my knees work."

"Mm, promises." Prowl sounded drowsy. "You're coming along nicely, sweet thing."

"Prowl?" Jazz asked, not quite sure what his lover meant by that.

"Later." Prowl relaxed against him, warm and sated. "Sleepy now."

When Prowl was cuddly and adorable like this it was hard to remember that, oh yeah, he _killed people_ for a living.

Used to, anyway.

Would again, if Jazz asked him to, and wasn’t _that_ a terrifying amount of power to have over someone? Prowl had already changed professions once for the sake of Jazz’s comfort, after all, and gone into an entirely new business…where the public could –

“Prowl, did you lock the door?”


	2. Chapter 2

Prowl’s diversion put Jazz a little behind on the time he’d allotted to work on the Senator Ratbat case. He had a feeling that the Ratbat file was more important than Prowl’s new-old murder, so he put the new case to one side and got caught up. He had to put a cycle in after their official closing hours to get where he wanted to be on the new file. Prowl stayed behind with him, sprawled over the second chair in Jazz’s office, playing a strategy game on a tablet. Every so often Prowl would chuckle darkly at something that happened in his game, making Jazz wonder which side he was really playing for, but he was otherwise silent.

Prowl’s murder victim had been a generally unpleasant mech it seemed. Backslash had debts of his own and a history of Offences Against Public Order, Misleading Justice, lots of charges falling under the Firearms and Other Weapons statues, lots of charges for public intoxication and causing a disturbance, and mechslaughter.  He’d served an entire vorn for that last one

“It really should have been murder, and not the only charge,” Prowl remarked and smirked at Jazz’s surprised look. “I can see the reflection from your tablet in your visor, lover.”

“I thought you were playing a game.” Jazz wondered if he should have specified ‘on your tablet’ since he was sure Prowl was playing games with people most of the time.

“That too.” Prowl quirked an optic ridge at him. “You _always_ have a part of my attention, Jazz, especially if you’re physically near to me – my favourite place for you to be, of course.”

“Yeah,” Jazz said, feeling his cheek plates warm, “mine too.”

Prowl smiled at him with genuine affection. “What else have you found out about our victim? Not a very pleasant individual, was he?”

“Well, you do keep telling me that your marks weren’t very nice mecha,” Jazz reminded him, going back to his research. “I’m sure he’s not the worst one.”

“Oh, far from it,” Prowl said calmly, attention once more on his game. “I wouldn’t have accepted this if it had been one of the worst ones.”

Jazz looked up from his work again. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to learn about those,” Prowl said, simply, looking at Jazz. “You’re too good a mech.”

“I’m – I’m just ordinary, Prowl.” Jazz looked away, not quite able to meet the intensity in Prowl’s face.

“You’re not,” Prowl insisted. “You’ve only been convinced that you are. At the very least, you are special to _me_ , which is more than sufficient for everyone else. Now, then. What else have you learned about our friend there?”

“In a cycle? Not a whole lot, just what’s on the public DataNet. I’ve had to put in requests for a lot of the data, should be approved in a mega-cycle or two. But,” Jazz added, “I recognize the victim’s name, though. Wasn’t this Backslash one of Cryotek’s lieutenants?”

“He was,” Prowl confirmed.

“So, it was a mob hit?” Jazz guessed.

Prowl tapped the corner of his tablet against his chin, smiling. “It does seem likely, doesn’t it?”

Right, someone investigating this _without_ the help of the assassin who’d done the hit wouldn’t be able to state that with certainty. Especially not since it had been one of Prowl’s contracts. Prowl was known for three things: being a very successful assassin, being incredibly ethical, and leaving so little evidence he was practically an urban legend. Unless someone involved in hiring Prowl had confessed to the contract Prowl’s name would never be attached to it. Some members of law enforcement Jazz had met didn’t even think Prowl was real, just a name that got connected with certain unsolved murders.

“Well, what are the odds you’d be involved in the mob, and a rival _wouldn’t_ be the one to contract a hit on you?” Jazz reasoned. Prowl just kept looking pleased, like a teacher whose student was working out the correct answer. “Pretty low, right?”

“Very.”

“Okay, so,” Jazz stared down at the open file on his tablet. “The client can’t be paying us just to find out that this was a mob hit. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, so they’ve got to know that already. But they can’t really expect us to find out who in the mob put out the contract if the Enforcers couldn’t manage it, can they?”

“You should ask Smokescreen to tell you some of the things people have demanded at Incendium,” Prowl said drily. “The public is not always reasonable. Yes, they might expect it, especially if they’ve convinced themselves there’s some manner of conspiracy involved.”

Jazz thought back to someone he’d gone on a single date with, who claimed organics in undetectable spaceships abducted Cybertronians who drove alone on rural roads and there was a conspiracy to hide it. Yeah, ‘rational’ and ‘conspiracy’ weren’t always things that went hand in hand. Still…

“ _Could_ there be a conspiracy?” he asked Prowl.

Prowl made a half-amused, half-derisive sound. “Honestly, lover, most of the people who convince themselves there’s a conspiracy about themselves or their loved ones are deluding themselves. It’s a way to make themselves feel important or explain things they can’t quite grasp – or don’t want to, I suppose. It’s rare someone is important enough to be worth the time and effort of a conspiracy.”

“Okay, going to take that as a ‘no,’” since otherwise Prowl would just nudge him further along that line of thought, “and keep looking.”

“Tomorrow?” Prowl cajoled, reaching out a hand. “It’s a cycle after closing, you’ve put your work in for the day. Come home with me and refuel.”

Jazz shut his tablet off and rose, chuckling. “Got bored, did you?” he asked, taking Prowl’s hand.

Prowl stood too, lifting Jazz’s hand to his lips and kissing it. “Never bored looking at you, darling. But yes. I also expect that you can’t go much further without the documents for which you put in a request.”

“True,” Jazz allowed, letting Prowl draw him around the desk, and ‘spaced his tablet. “I’ll pick it up again when those come through. I’ve got that Ratbat file to keep me busy till then.”

“So you do. But not until tomorrow.” Prowl kissed the side of his mouth. “My sweet workaholic.”

“Well, if you don’t want me working, you’d better distract me, then,” Jazz informed him. He squeezed his lover’s hand. “I’m sure you can think of something.”

“Mmm. I certainly can.”

* * *

Prowl’s, ah, _distraction_ the day before had utterly deleted any thought of Backslash from Jazz’s active processing threads. He had to pull up what he’d meant to do from an archived thread and do a quick analysis to get back to where he’d been. The documents he’d requested were in as well, and he spent the morning buried in those, extracting data. It seemed kind of pointless when he _knew_ who the killer was, but Prowl had said to make it look like a legitimate investigation.

Well, it kind of _was_ a legitimate investigation, but in the way working out the identity of the murderer by looking at the last pages was like reading a mystery novel.

Jazz delved into the financial documents first. His career as a forensic accountant might have biased him, but he’d learned that a great deal of motivation for crime came from desires based around shanix. He’d worked with an officer once, Nightbeat, who claimed that the unholy trinity was ‘interface, shanix, and power’ and that mecha were usually using one to get another. Or both. He doubted that this would turn out to be any different.

Jazz pulled himself out of his work-trance when Prowl materialized at his side with a tiny box of cadmium-laced treats in one hand. He fed Jazz a treat, rich with energon and crunchy with the metal, with the other hand before either of them could say anything.

“That’s good,” Jazz sighed, watching his energy levels rise on his HUD. “Thanks, Prowler.”

“You’re quite welcome. You need,” Prowl said, setting the box down, “to take a break, my Jazz.”

Jazz sat back in his chair, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness that came from sitting in one position for too long. “Yeah, too true. Get up, stretch, all that.”

“Just so.” Prowl gave Jazz room to push his chair back and took his hands when he stood. The assassin looked at their interlaced fingers, black and white, and smiled. “Chiaroscuro.”

Jazz was still half-focused on what he’d been doing, not quite switched over to break mode yet. Prowl’s sudden detours in thought could be difficult to track even when you were paying attention. “Hm?”

“The interplay of light and shadow,” Prowl explained and nipped playfully but without heat at one of Jazz’s fingertips. “It’s a technique frequently used in art and film.”

“Really? What about in music?” Jazz asked, intrigued, the topic pulling him out of his work-haze. “Like, using different tones instead of light and shadow?”

“Yes,” Prowl sounded pleased. “Music as well. And accountants and assassins, of course.”

Jazz smiled at him. “Of course.”

Prowl kissed Jazz’s hand then looked back at Jazz’s desk. “What have you found?”

“Well, Backslash had a regular income coming from what I’m guessing is one of Cryotek’s shell companies,” Jazz began, “but there were a few other deposits, here and there, from someone else’s shells. Not as well hidden. I can’t prove the main one is Cryotek’s without looking further but seeing as that isn’t the job – “

“You’re leaving it alone for now,” Prowl finished for him. “Excellent plan. If I had to keep killing Cryotek’s people to keep you safe it would cut significantly into our time together.”

“Um…”

“A proper assassination takes time to prepare,” Prowl pointed out. “It’s not simply a matter of arriving on a rooftop with a rifle and scope.”

That – wasn’t what Jazz had meant but he decided not to try and clear things up. Instead, he picked up from where he’d left off. “Anyway, seeing as that isn’t the job I’ve been focusing on the others. They’re still pretty well hidden to a standard check, but I went deeper. Looks like he was getting paid on the side for stuff by some of Cryotek’s lesser rivals, Brimstone and Scowl. I looked at the code on the documents – the stuff that shows how often it’s been accessed, when and by whom.”

“You’re not the first to take a look, are you?” The corner of Prowl’s mouth lifted. “Clever, sweet thing. You were wasted as a public servant, you realize?”

“So you keep telling me.”

“And I’ll continue to do so until you believe it.” Prowl drew them over to the window. “You should walk, move about. It helps with the stiffness. What did you find in the code?”

Jazz stretched his legs with each step, catlike, and let Prowl guide him. “Shortly before Backslash died – about twelve deca-cycles before – he got a significant chunk of shanix from them. Much bigger than the previous deposits.”

“And so much harder to hide,” Prowl said thoughtfully. “Was the dearly departed foolish enough to suddenly spend more than he should logically have been able to?”

“You guessed it. Not long after _that_ Backslash’s banking records were accessed, and it isn’t access that shows on the data log.” Jazz leaned into Prowl and looked out over the city. They didn’t have a bad view from their little office suite. Better than the one he’d had as a public servant, that’s for sure. “I traced it back to the server it came from. That’s offline now, probably only ever meant to be temporary, and it came from guess where?”

“One of Cryotek’s shell companies,” Prowl concluded for him. “So, what are you thinking?”

“Backslash got paid for something from someone other than his boss, Cryotek found out and strongly disapproved, and hired y – an assassin to express that disapproval. It’s just a theory,” Jazz added, “but I can’t go any deeper. Civilians don’t have access. Sound right?”

“It’s a logical conclusion, and one I will present to the client but with the name of the shell company instead of Cryotek. That should satisfy the client and keep you from Cryotek’s interest, especially since you want me to stop killing.” Prowl, as if he hadn’t just casually suggested killing a mob boss, rewarded Jazz with a kiss, before whispering, “your conclusion is also right.” He kissed Jazz again, far more suggestively. “So, now that you’re done with that…?”

“I’m going to go for a drive, a fast one,” Jazz said firmly, “and then I’m going to come back and work on the Ratbat file for the rest of the workday. We shouldn’t be interfacing in the office, remember?” Now it was his turn to smirk. “You’re going to wait to have me, at least until we get home.”

“Oh?” Prowl raised an optic ridge. “Is this for seducing you in the office yesterday? I seem to recall a promise of punishment.”

Jazz had forgotten entirely about said promise but decided to roll with it. “That’s right. But if you can be good for the rest of the day, you’ll be rewarded when we get home.”

“Oh?” Prowl teased Jazz with the offer of a kiss, getting close enough Jazz felt the warmth of his lips, but didn’t follow through. “Then I suppose I’ll have to do as you say, won’t I?”

“That you will,” Jazz told him, hoping he put the right amount of authority into it.

“Hm.” Prowl smiled a dangerous, sexy smile, the one that had gotten Jazz into this in the first place and still made him weak in the knees. “By your command, then, my darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The names of the laws are all based on [Canadian statutes](https://laws-lois.justice.gc.ca/eng/acts/c-46/index.html).
> 
> The [TF Wiki](https://www.tfwiki.net) has a Gangsters page and I love it. I also took all the gangster names from there.
> 
> [Chiaroscuro in film](https://books.google.ca/books?redir_esc=y&id=7CYJUwg69KsC&q=chiaroscuro#v=snippet&q=chiaroscuro&f=false), including a gorgeous visual example from The Third Man, one of the finest films ever made.
> 
> I knew chiaroscuro was involved in film thanks to its influence on German Expressionist cinema (i.e. The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari) which in turn influenced film noir (i.e. The Third Man) but did not know that [Expressionist Music](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expressionist_music) was a thing until I was performing verification of terms for this fic. So that’s cool.


	3. Chapter 3

Jazz might spend most of his time at Prowl’s apartment these mega-cycles, but he still had his own. It wasn’t as luxurious as Prowl’s, but it was secure (thanks to Red Alert’s security measures, which could have secured the vaults of the High Council Pavilions) and – he needed space sometimes. Prowl was wonderful, and Jazz loved being with him, but he was also incredibly _present_ , a personality that could just fill up a room and take it over. Unsurprisingly, in Prowl’s apartment that was even more pronounced, as if the assassin’s presence had soaked into the walls.

Jazz hadn’t been comfortable talking to Prowl about that. How did you tell your lover you sometimes needed _space away_? Prowl had taken it well, though, and Jazz got the feeling it wasn’t the first time he’d heard something like that in a relationship.

He’d told Jazz not to be afraid to push back, whatever that meant. He’d also asked if Jazz having his own space would help, such as a room of his own. Only, Prowl’s apartment didn’t _have_ a separate room Jazz could use. It was the living and dining room areas and kitchen on the open-concept first floor, then Prowl’s bedroom and wash-rack on the second. Jazz kept his own apartment for now and went back there when he needed some space. Right after opening a new business wasn’t necessarily the best time to go apartment-hunting after all, what with most of their capital invested in the new venture.

Probably should have picked office space with living quarters above or below, but the lease was signed now. Jazz wasn’t sure Prowl would have gone for that anyway – it was probably more secure to not be in the same place for so much of the day.

So it was that Jazz was on his way back to his apartment, alone, a few days after closing the Backslash file, when he got the feeling he was being watched. As Prowl had taught him, he immediately scanned the area for familiar RFIDs to see if maybe a friend or former coworker had recognized him. No such luck. He commed Prowl, who’d insisted on upgrading his onboard commsuite to transmit over a greater distance.

‘ _Hey, lover. You anywhere near me?’_ He switched lanes as he transmitted, intending to take the next couple of turns and see who, if anyone, followed him.

_‘Sadly no, darling. Why?’_

_‘Got a feeling like I’m being watched. No friendly IDs nearby.’_

_‘Attempt to evade them as I taught you and head back toward me.’_ Any trace of flirtatiousness was gone from Prowl’s voice. This was the professional, not the lover. ‘ _Set your locator to transmit to me continuously.’_

Jazz obeyed and took a twisting route through the city back toward Prowl’s building. He spotted the tail partway back, two determinedly inconspicuous mecha, and did his best to lose them. He almost succeeded a couple of times, but they seemed to know the roads better than he did.

_Got to study the city maps more, not just the bits that are my neighbourhood,_ he thought, and transmitted, _‘Hey, Prowl? You getting close?’_

_‘Yes. Take the next left, go two blocks, turn right, then left again and transform.’_

Jazz transmitted a glyph of acknowledgment, no markers, and followed Prowl’s instructions. He’d just made it past the left turn, into a little street that had no traffic, when one of the two mecha following him suddenly sped up. They were going _way_ too fast for a residential street, and they were heading straight for Jazz.

_Frag!_

Jazz swerved hard to avoid the other mech, tipping up onto his right-side wheels, and flung himself into root mode, using momentum to gain distance. He landed on his feet and broadcast an SOS ping to Prowl. Later, he’d wonder why the local Enforcers emergency frequency hadn’t been his first thought, but at the moment he was a bit busy. The two mecha who’d been following him transformed and followed him into the empty little side-street. They were big and broad, obviously muscle. Either they’d been disguising their vehicle modes with holograms of some kind or they were packing some _serious_ mass-displacement tech because they looked _way_ too big for their alts.

‘ _Try talking them down. It won’t work, but it will distract them.’_ Prowl suggested.

“Hey, fellas,” Jazz tried, spreading his hands in a ‘what’s up, we’re all friends’ manner. “What’s going on? Look, if it’s about the near-miss there, I’m not damaged, you’re not damaged, how about we all go on our way?”

“You the smart guy been looking into Halex Corporation?” Right-hand Muscle wanted to know.

“The what?” Jazz did his best to sound confused. Whatever Prowl was doing, Jazz really hoped he did it soon.

He did. Left-hand Muscle jerked, followed a half-nano-klik later by Right-hand Goon and they both keeled over, vocalizers hissing static. They twitched, one then the other, and suddenly Prowl was there beside Jazz.

“What did you do?” Jazz yelped, rattled, backing away instinctively.

“Tranquilizer program. Stay there.” Prowl strode over to the fallen mecha and yanked something from their necks, then jacked into a device of some kind that jacked into each mech’s medical port in turn. Something to protect Prowl from viruses or trackbacks, Jazz guessed. It only took nano-kliks and Prowl was swiftly back on his feet. “Come on. Quickly.”

Jazz obediently went with Prowl, transforming and following Prowl’s twisting and turning route back to his building. His mind was numb, and it stayed that way through the lobby and during the elevator ride up to Prowl’s floor. Prowl gently took his hand, and that helped, though just then Jazz couldn’t have clearly articulated _what_ was being helped. It was only when the door of Prowl’s unit slid closed behind them that the bottom dropped out of his tanks and he started to shake.

“That was  – and they tried to run me off the road – I – Prowl – “

“I know,” Prowl soothed, hugging Jazz comfortingly. “I know, but they didn’t. Come on, lover. Come sit down, Jazz.”

Jazz let himself be led over to the area Prowl used as the living room. “What did you do to them?” he asked as they walked.

“Hacked them. Altered memories. They’ll think their mission to intimidate you was successful.”

“You _hacked_ another _person_?”

Prowl’s arm, around Jazz and guiding him, went tense. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

It wasn’t anything Jazz would have called ethical but given it would keep him safe Jazz couldn’t really object. He thought maybe he should have but – well, like Prowl often said they ‘weren’t very _nice_ mecha’ and they’d obviously been a threat. Non-threats didn’t try to run you off the road. Some of the less-than-legal things Prowl did suddenly made a lot more sense.

“Okay. Okay, and we’re safe now?” Jazz asked

Prowl pressed a kiss to his temple. “Yes, Jazz. Their mission was only intimidation to keep you from looking into the Halex shell company. Since we’re done with that, you’re safe. We’re safe.”

“Safe,” Jazz repeated. “Good.” His shakes were easing. “Good.”

“Yes, it is.” Prowl seated Jazz on the couch across from the entertainment center then knelt in front of him and carefully took his hands. “Is this alright?” Prowl asked.

“What?” Jazz looked down at their hands as if surprised to see them. “Oh. Oh, yeah, ‘course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’m often flirting with or seducing you when we touch,” Prowl told him. “I need you to know this is not that.” Jazz looked back up at him, understanding, and nodded. “Alright. I want you to stay put while I get you some energon. Are you tracking what I’m saying, Jazz? Repeat it back.”

“Y-yeah, I follow, Prowler. Going to the kitchen for energon.”

“Good, yes. I’ll be right back.”

“Can you turn the heat up a bit?” Jazz asked as Prowl rose. “I’m kinda – cold.” It was weird. His autonomic systems should have been able to regulate his temperature. He shouldn’t be cold.

“Your systems aren’t regulating your temperature properly because you’re in shock,” Prowl said as he crossed to the kitchen. “I’m treating you for it. I imagine you feel jittery and are having trouble focusing your thoughts as well. It’s to be expected, my dear. You’ll be alright shortly.”

“Shock, yeah.” Jazz had some basic first aid knowledge and knew what that was. “Thought you only got that when you were injured, though?”

“Not necessarily.” Prowl took something out long and silvery out of the cupboard and draped it over his arm before getting Jazz’s energon. “Any sudden and traumatic event can bring it on. I expect you haven’t encountered much in the way of violence before.”

“No. _No._ ” Jazz laughed, briefly and without humour. “Never even been pushed around in a bar fight. M’mentors didn’t even argue. The closest thing before today to a threat was, well…”

“Me,” Prowl finished, walking over with the energon cube. “When I showed up on your balcony.”

“Well, yeah. And you weren’t even there to threaten me.” Jazz accepted the cube. “Thanks.”

Prowl wrapped the shiny thing that Jazz now recognized as a thermal blanket around him. “You ought to have seen your face when you turned around.”

“I was pretty shocked, yeah.” Jazz played with the edge of the blanket, curious about the texture, the way the cloth moved and folded and flexed. He’d only seen blankets in first-aid kits, he’d never used one before. Fabrics were mostly luxuries for the nobles and the priests. The closest regular mecha came were the types of vinyl used for upholstery, and they didn’t flow like this.

Prowl sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders again. Jazz leaned into the contact, letting it ground him. “Mm, yes, but cute too. Made me want to kiss you, actually, but that’s a conversation for another time.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t really feel like it right now, y’know?” Which was too bad because at any other time Jazz would’ve loved to hear it.

“I know.” Prowl tapped the energon cube. “Drink. I warmed it and sweetened it with cadmium for you.”

“My favourite.” Jazz drank obediently.

“I know that, too.” Prowl watched him drink for a klik before speaking again. “Do you know, your speech pattern changes when you’re very relaxed, or emotional? It’s much more casual.”

“Talked like that when I was a newbuild, too,” Jazz said. “My mentors didn’t think it was proper enough, though, so they trained me out of it. It’s a habit now.”

“Well, if you want to break the habit, you should certainly be aware by now I’m not concerned with ‘proper.’”

“Heh, yeah.” Jazz turned, swinging his legs over Prowl’s, so he could better curl up against his lover’s shoulder. He was warm now and felt grounded by Prowl’s touch. Prowl tucked him in close: seemed like Jazz wasn’t the only one in need of comfort. “Noticed that.” Jazz took another deep draught of energon, relishing how it was almost _too_ sweet. “Know what else I noticed? You changed your furniture around, made a separate workspace in that corner under the stairs.”

“I did. For you.” Prowl nodded in the direction of the workspace. “There’s a folding screen that you can open out when you want privacy. I’ll respect it.”

“I know.” Jazz kissed Prowl’s cheek. “Thanks, Prowler. For the save in the street, too, if I didn’t say that before.”

“You’re quite welcome, lover, for both.” Prowl’s arms tightened around him. “I’ll put out the word tomorrow that you are under my protection. I will keep you safe, Jazz. I swear it.”

“I know.” Jazz finished his energon and leaned far enough to put it down on the low table in front of the couch then snuggled back up to Prowl. “Feeling pretty safe right now, even if I am still a little shaky.”

“Hm. Would it help if I put on one of those far-fetched comedies you enjoy?”

“The ones you tolerate for my sake?”

Prowl rubbed Jazz’s arm through the blanket. “The very same. Do you have a preference?”

“Nah.” Jazz kind of wanted to not think for a bit. A comedy sounded like a good way to do that. “You pick.”

“Very well.”

Prowl usually sighed a bit when it was Jazz’s turn to pick the light entertainment. He didn’t do so now, which told Jazz his lover was more rattled than he wanted to show.”

“Hey,” Jazz said, with a gentle nudge as Prowl searched for the appropriate file on the entertainment centre’s drive. Prowl glanced down at him. “It’s okay. I got scared and shaken, yeah, but nothing worse than that.” He met Prowl’s optics carefully. “I’m fine. We’re both fine.” Jazz added quietly, “I want to keep you safe, too, you know. Just need help getting the tools to do it.”

“I’ll begin contacting people to help you tomorrow,” Prowl told him. “The same as taught me.”

“Well, nothing to worry about, then,” Jazz said, with a confidence he didn’t feel. “You and I, we’re gonna be unstoppable.”

Prowl read Jazz like a billboard and must have known Jazz was putting on a front. Nonetheless, his features eased, and he smiled for the first time since they’d gotten back.

“Always, lover.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prowl did, in fact, threaten Jazz during their first meeting: ‘…I can also,” [Prowl] added, “get to the door faster than you can, even from here. This only goes my way. I recommend compliance.”’ ([The Stranger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16899093), paragraph 10.) Jazz's reaction at the time was that of someone feeling threatened: ‘There was steel in [Prowl's] voice and a glint in his optics that made Jazz do as he was told.’ (The Stranger, paragraph 11.) Jazz is tingeing the memory of their first meeting with the emotions of their current circumstances.


End file.
